The Principle of the Thing
by PhantomKat
Summary: Set before the events of The Dark Knight, a girl joins Joker's mob. This is how she got roped into all the shenanigans and mayhem he creates. Rated for safety and possibly for later chapters.
1. Crazy?

_Hello, everyone, and thanks for coming out to check out this story. The first chapter, as you can see is a bit short, but the rest will be longer, I promise. Just so you know, this is not going to be some happy-frolic-through-a-sunshiney-meadow kind of story. It's gonna get dark, so I hope you're not afraid of the dark. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Joker or anything else, except the plot and my original character._

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Crazy? Could I be crazy? It was entirely possible. What else could you be after watching your own flesh and blood die right in front of your eyes? The time was ripe for vengeance. Such a lovely word, vengeance. I love how it just rolls off my tongue.

For what seemed like the millionth time, I checked my pocket for my father's old survival knife that lay in wait. The metal was cool to the touch. I wasn't entirely sure this was the _best_ course of action, but times being what they were, it was time to take matters into my own hands. Darwin's law now applied to Gotham more than ever: survival of the fittest, eat or be eaten. I would be one of the eaters.

I was at the door. Squaring my shoulders and letting out a deep breath, I pushed open the door and walked inside before I could loose my nerve.

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_Short and sweet. The next chapter will be up later on tonight or tomorrow. Intrigued yet? _

_Cheers, PK_


	2. First Meeting

_Okay, this is probably one of the fastest updates I've ever done. Because the first chapter was so short, here's a nice long chapter that actually starts off the plot. Thanks very much to BrilliantInsanity and MissGalore for their comments, and I hope more people follow in their footsteps of giving me some feedback, especially so with this chapter. _

_As mentioned in the chapter before, I don't own anything affiliated with Batman, only a couple of DVDs and a t-shirt. _

_Thanks again for reading, please enjoy, and...here...we...go!_

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**He waited in the shadows, waiting for the most opportune moment. Vincent Spenalzo may have been a lower on the mob food chain, but he was still an important player in the game of Gotham City. Take him out and some sort of chaos would emerge. He licked his lips, wiping off a bit of the red make-up smeared across his mouth. Dramatics and anarchy were his forte, and he would never miss a chance to use either one of them. Just as he was about to stop out and most likely scare the bejeezus out of ol' Vinny, the door slammed open.

Vince and two hired thugs looked toward the doorway in surprise as the shadowed figure cursed beneath his breath; however, he grew silent as another figure entered the room. His mouth matched his scars as he looked over the figure of a woman, who determinedly made her way over to Spenalzo.

She was attractive he supposed, perhaps even beautiful to some. She stepped lightly, not making a sound as she moved across the floor, tugging at the pocket of her battered black leather jacket nervously. Her hair was tucked up underneath a military style cap, which also did a good job of hiding her face. But some things never escaped his notice, like the way her skin looked smooth across her face. Oh, he could soon fix that, he thought as his hand tightened around on of the many knives littering his person.

"They sent a _woman_ to pick up the shipment?" Spenalzo was unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

The woman merely laughed.

"No one sent me."

All of the laughter drained quickly from the crime boss's face as his thugs sprang at the woman. She dodged them all, swiftly, if not a bit sloppily, sending them to the ground moaning over their injuries. Spenalzo's eyes widened in fear as she sat on his desk, taking a small swig from an open bourbon bottle.

"I'm surprised you don't remember me, Vinny. You're the one who killed my father. I guess you didn't carry out the order yourself; you wouldn't get your hands dirty. He was a soldier. He should have died with honour, not have some cheap hired thug kill him in a dark alley. Now, what did he ever do to you? He paid his ten percent and conducted his business peacefully. You killed him to give a warning to those not like him, to create a little chaos. Now it's my turn to create a little chaos, send the others a warning."

She whipped out her knife and held it in front of his face. In it he could see his own fearful reflection. In a flash, she leaned across the desk and held the knife against his throat.

"See this knife? It's usually used for survival. Well, tonight, it looks like you're not going to survive."

She went to slash the blade across his throat, but the sound of slow applause stopped her. Her head turned to the shadows, annoyance crossing her originally satisfied expression.

"A woman after my own heart."

"And just who are you?"

"The Joker, Clown Prince of Crime, at your service." He held out his arms and gave her a mocking half-bow. "And who, may _I_ ask, am I addressing?"

The woman lowered her weapon from Spenalzo's neck just a bit and he visibly relaxed. She looked him up and down from his purple suit to his green hair. Interestingly enough, she was more annoyed than frightened. That had to be a first.

"Esme," she muttered shortly.

"Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful lady." He grabbed her free hand and planted a kiss on her knuckles, smearing red make-up over her skin. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, you're in my way."

"Haven't you ever heard of ladies first?"

"Yes, but, uh, I don't believe everything I hear."

"Why should it matter which one of us kills him? We'll both get our endings."

"Ah, but it's the principle of the thing. Stand aside, sweetheart."

"I think not."

Esme cut swiftly across Spenalzo's throat sending blood flowing down his neck. A small spatter of red crossed her face, but she barely flinched. The Joker looked on studying her and her work as she put her knife away. Absentmindedly, she licked up a trail of blood decorating her lip, her eyes flicking toward the Joker.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare?"

The Joker yanked her down from the desk into his arms, a knife at the ready. He ripped the hat from her head, making strands of red hair fall in front of her widening eyes. Pressing her against the desk, he held the shining weapon close to her mouth.

"No, but she did tell me something else. Ever wonder how I got these scars?" He gestured to his mouth with the blade. The clown went on, ignoring the shake of her head. "My mother was a crazed, greedy woman. When I was young, she killed my father for the insurance money, and got away with it too. She laughed all…the way…to the bank. She came home to find me broken up over my father."

He paused and licked his lips. Fear lingered in her eyes as he continued.

"'_**Why so serious**_?' she asked. '_It's time to turn that frown…upside down._' So, she took a kitchen knife…and slashed through both sides of my mouth, so now…I'm always smiling." He chuckled, holding the knife closer to the corner of her mouth. "And now, it's your turn, precious."

He could hear her breath catch ever so slightly as the cool metal touched her skin. He stopped just shy of drawing blood. Taking away his knife, he looked at her critically, walking around her, a wicked idea forming in his head.

"Hey! Will you stop circling? What? Were you a vulture in another life or something?"

"I'll make you a deal." He came up close to her again. "I am about to take Gotham on the journey of a lifetime, and you're invited to come along for the ride. What do you say?"

"Sorry, this was a one time thing."

He gripped her shoulders roughly, staring unnervingly into her eyes.

"Don't tell me you didn't get a…rush just now. All that blood spilling out, the power of having the control over an _insignificant_ thing such as a life."

Esme considered his words. Perhaps she had felt something, but that was just the adrenaline taking over. As she thought about it, her fingers itched to hold the knife in her hands again.

"See…killing…is a lot like sex." She raised an eyebrow at him, but he continued on. "Once you do it once, you just can't get _enough_."

He giggled.

"What would I get out of it?"

"Out of the killing or the sex?" Now it was his turn to arch an eyebrow.

Esme rolled her eyes.

"Joining your little group."

"Well, in exchange for your services, you would be handsomely rewarded."

"Money?"

"Perhaps."

"I don't want money. All it does is creates problems."

"But it solves some problems too, ya know."

"But then it creates more."

"A cheap date huh?" He licked his lips, thinking. "There will be…uh…more dealings with the mob. Strike back for your father and all that mumbo jumbo."

She thought about it more. It wasn't just one man that had brought about her father's death, there were layers upon layers of people. Perhaps she could confront them all, starting with those in the mob.

The Joker watched her expectantly, observing the corruption take over. For a brief second she was seriously considering his offer. Then, her conscience took over. She shook her head, ridding herself of the murderous thoughts.

"No."

"What was that? No?" Esme thought he looked like a petulant child. "Ya, know, I don't face rejection very well."

He pressed a knife to her skin, making her let out a small whimper.

"Shhh, shh, shhh. You know what they say, _Ezzy_…only the good die young." He stroked her hair as a small line of blood began to flow out of her neck. "Just give me what I want, and you can go free."

Reluctantly, Esme nodded, and the Joker took the knife from her throat.

"You really know how to make a man _smile_." As he said it, he came closer to her so that she could feel his breath on her skin. He whipped out a playing card. "Here's my card. Don't contact me, I'll contact you. See you soon."

With those words, he released her and melted back into the shadows, laughing to himself, leaving Esme to make her own escape.

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_Well, what'd you think? I'll probably get around to posting the next chapter in a few days, maybe a week. And can anyone tell me if there's a definitive season (summer, spring, fall, winter) for when the events of The Dark Knight occur? Thanks so much._

_Cheers, PK_


	3. The Proposal

Check it! Chapter 3! Sorry about the length between updates....the last two weeks were crazy. Okay, so once again: I own nothing, review, and enjoy. Oh! And see the bottom of the page for a special offer!

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Esme walked in to her darkened apartment, throwing her keys and purse on the kitchen counter. The hem of her short black dress swished around her thighs as she glanced around her apartment.

Summer had settled on Gotham and it had been three weeks since the Joker's proposition. He hadn't contacted her since, at least not through any means that she noticed. She supposed she was relieved, but something tugged at the back of her mind. She remembered the way the knife felt in her hands. The power and satisfaction that flowed through her body when she had slit his throat had made her weak at the knees.

Shaking the feeling off, she regained her composure. She wouldn't stoop to his level, just stay at the level she was currently on. She wasn't proud of her current situation, but it got her through life in Gotham, at least it got her a free meal. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a wad of cash she had lifted from her date tonight. He'd been another mobster. The formula was simple. Go out with the guy, dinner, a few drinks, lead him on a little, then dump him and escape with some of his money. It still gave her a rush, and it was better than what the Joker did anyhow. Still, that feeling…

She shivered in the warm air. A shower, that's what she needed, then sleep. Making her way to the bathroom, she plucked a tank top and shorts from a laundry basket. Just as she had anticipated, the warm water began to clear her mind, calming her down and making her forget the Joker and the night's escapades.

Humming to herself, she walked back out into the apartment, toweling her hair dry. Grabbing a pair of knee socks from the laundry basket, she smiled as she slid them on. She may be a thief and a one time murderess, but everyone has their quirks. She stretched and figured on heading to bed. She grabbed the wad of cash from the kitchen counter, intent on squirreling it away, and headed for her bedroom. God knows what would happen tomorrow.

As she opened the door to her bedroom, she let out a scream and jumped back. A figure on her bed cackled at her reaction. The figure was none other than the Joker. He lounged casually, flipping through a book, his purple overcoat missing.

"Surprised to see me, precious?"

Esme simply gaped at him, still trying to recover from the shock.

"Interesting choice of reading material…I thought the idea of anarchy…ah…repulsed you." He showed her the cover of her copy of _A Clockwork Orange_ before tossing it to the floor. Esme finally found her voice.

"What are you doing here?"

"I told you, that I would contact you…don't you remember? Now I've got a _little _job for you to do for me…"

"Why me?"

The Joker hopped up from his perch and strolled lazily over to her, his eyes raking over her figure, his tongue running along his red lips from between yellow-stained teeth.

"Frankly, because I don't have the legs for the job." He stopped in front of her. "But you do…boy, do you."

Esme scrunched against the wall, feeling more than a little vulnerable under the criminal's gaze. In a swift motion, he snatched up her wrist, viewing the bundle green bills with interest.

"And you had me believe it wasn't about the money."

She wrenched her hand away.

"A girl's gotta pay rent."

The Joker plucked the money from her hand, glanced at it, and threw it back over his shoulder.

"So…when you said that it wasn't about the money…you meant that it wasn't about _my _money…you little liar."

He whipped out a knife and laid it against her throat.

"It's still not about the money," she gasped.

"What was it then? Was it the scars? Do they make you…_uncomfortable_? Wanna know how I got 'em?"

"You already told me."

"Oh, right. So, if it wasn't the scars…what was it? Why is their money…better than what I have…to offer?"

He looked at her intently, searching her face for the answer, pressing the knife against her skin.

"Not about money…wanted the rush…" she mumbled.

"Ahh…" he removed the blade from her throat, but kept close to her. "We're gonna play a _little_ game. Here's how it works: I ask a question and you answer _truthfully_." He began to stroke her cheek with the blade. "Oh, and don't think about lying, 'cos I'll know if you are."

Her pulse quickened at the touch of cool metal on her skin. She closed her eyes. As the blade continued its steady rhythm, she felt the corruption leak back into her, giving her the feeling she craved. Everything was going fuzzy, like she was dreaming. The Joker came closer to whisper in her ear. She could feel his breath on her skin and the subtle scent of gasoline wafted up from his clothes.

"Alrighty then, question number one…you want the rush? You want the feeling back like when you killed that what's-his-name?"

"Yes."

"Number two…" He licked his lips before going on. She could here the wet smacking of his tongue as he continued, "how _far_ are you willing to go to get that…_rush_?"

"As far as it takes."

The feeling was taking over, stronger than before. Her knees turned to jelly, luckily both the wall and the Joker held her up. Her fingers itched to be around her father's knife again, slicing into someone's skin and letting their warm, red blood flow out.

"Finally…and this is most important…what rules are holding you back?"

She breathed in, the blade not diverting from its constant motion across her cheek. What could stop her anymore? She wanted that feeling to stay. It empowered her, made her realize she didn't have to put up with those bosses anymore.

"Nothing's stopping me…anymore…"

The Joker let out a satisfied grunt, still staying close to her. Esme felt his breath move from her ear to her face. He was very close, and he wasn't moving. For a second, she had the oddest feeling that he was going to kiss her. Then, he let go of her, letting her slide down the wall to rest on the floor. He stepped back, a satisfied smirk adding to his scars.

"Good…very good."

Esme finally opened her eyes, her head still buzzing from the idea of the rush.

"Now…everything you need to know is on this card." The Joker dropped a card in her lap.

With a shaking hand, she picked up a card. It was like the Joker card he'd given her three weeks ago, but this time a picture was taped over the jester's image. It was a picture of the man who had taken over Spanelzo's mob, Mickey Castle. Below the picture was the name of an upscale club in downtown Gotham, and just below that was the name of a ritzy hotel in the same area.

"What do you want me to do?"

"All you have to do is be your _charming_ self, then…lure…him back to, let's say, room 217…"

"How?" she interrupted.

The Joker grinned lecherously at her.

"Use your imagination, or better yet, we can use my imagination. See first…"

"Never mind, I get the picture," she broke in hastily.

He laughed as her cheeks tinged pink.

"And now, I take my leave of you. It's been swell. See you tomorrow, doll face."

The Joker disappeared through the door while Esme looked back down at the card, scrutinizing her target.

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Thanks for reading! Now, we're gonna play a fun little game. If you can tell me where I got the name Spenalzo, you will receive a special prize....it's a pop culture reference, not something random like it was the name of my great aunt's favourite dog's name. Also, if I get a review, I might also send you the special prize.....


	4. Mickey

Yeah...I know it's been a while. But here's this chappie, and I'll update sooner next time! I promise! Please press the pretty button at the bottom so you can tell me what you think! Loves you guys!

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Mickey Castle was on top of the world. Just a few weeks ago he'd taken over Spanelzo's mob, and now he was top dog. And his father had said he wouldn't amount to shit. Well, that was what he had said until Mickey had put a bullet his head just two weeks ago. Mickey smirked at the memory. He was going all the way to the top.

Lazily, his eyes perused the length of the bar. He could easily have any girl in the place, perhaps not as easily as Bruce Wayne, but easily enough. Not only was he moving up the ranks in Gotham's organized crime, he was rather handsome to boot.

Dark hair complimented his olive skin that decidedly marked him as being of Italian descent. A smug smile tugged at his lips as his eyes roving the bar.

He was bored with blondes and he wanted a girl who would keep her mouth shut, at the right times of course. His smirk widened at the thought, and his eyes passed over a group of giggling girls who had been eyeing him, and stopped on a lone redhead, who sipped daintily from a martini glass and shot annoyed looks at the boisterous party. She would do nicely.

He motioned to Rico, he right hand man, and in a matter of moments, she was by his side, ignoring the dirty looks some of the other girls shot her way. Mickey brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"What's your name, _bella mia_?"

He'd found that by letting loose a bit of Italian, women would melt at his feet.

Sure enough, she smiled lightly and replied, "Esme."

-X-

Joker stared after Esme as she entered the bar. She wouldn't have any problem attracting Mickey with those legs. He licked his lips and giggled lecherously at the thoughts rolling around his disjointed brain. He absentmindedly strolled down the street, humming something at random before slipping into a shadowy alley where four cigarette tips glowed orange, smoke curling up into the sky. He looked the men over, and a plan began to form in his brain. After all, it wasn't fair for Esme to have all the fun.

Minutes later, four men were on the ground, languishing in pools of their own blood. The Joker cackled madly to himself, doing a strange sort of dance around their bodies.

"This little piggy had his throat slit…" he jumped over the first victim and twirled around the second. "This little piggy did too…

"This little piggy cried for mommy," he mercilessly kicked the body of the 3rd man, a big, burly bodyguard. "And this little piggy laughed 'til he turned blue!"

He chortled merrily, pleased with his perverse rhyme, examining the fourth corpse, a wiry man propped up against the brick wall and a trashcan. The Joker tapped his chin thought fully, kicking an empty can of his own special laughing gas aside. His scars stretched further across his face as he snatched the cap from the corpse's head and stripped him of his jacket.

"I always did like playing dress up!"

-X-

Esme sat close to him, feeling his fingers brush along her bare skin. She gave him small smiles as she was expected. Perhaps in other circumstances, she would enjoy his attention, but all she could think of was the night's deed. His fingers now brushed the square of topaz that hung around her neck on a fine chain. When he leaned closer, nuzzling her neck, she knew it was almost time to leave. As he whispered more Italian into her ear, two more drinks were set on the table. Mickey reached for his drink, his other hand resting on her knee, inching up her thigh as the seconds ticked on.

She emptied her one glass, and as he set down his, she noticed a playing card peeking out from beneath the glass. It must be from the Joker.

She leaned in close, pressing against him and whispering into his ear, making sure her lips barely brushed his skin. His smug smile returned and he motioned to Rico before helping Esme from her chair. His hand placed low on her hip, they headed out.

A black car waited for them at the entrance. Mickey pulled her close as the driver walked around the vehicle; then, Mickey's hold slackened and he fell to the sidewalk. The driver walked over, his head down as Esme crouched down and felt his pulse. It was still there; at least, he wasn't dead…yet.

"Put him in the back."

"Excuse me?"

She glanced up to see that the driver had finally looked up. She wasn't at all shocked to see the Joker staring back at her, but his appearance made her stop for a second. His face. There wasn't a smear of make-up on it. Not even covering his scars. They sort of faded into his cheeks, making him seem more normal.

"Whatcha starin' at, sweetcheeks?"

Joker looked highly amused at her attention, smirking at her while the unconscious mob boss lay between them.

"I – you've got blood on your cheek."

"Oh, is that all."

His tongue snaked out of the corner of his mouth as he tried to remove the blemish, but no matter how he wiggled his tongue, he couldn't reach. His eyes flicked over to Esme's expression.

"Gettin' you hot, dollface?"

"Hardly."

She reached over and brushed off the blood drop so they could get on with their work. Just before she pulled her hand away, Joker flicked out his tongue and licked her palm. She jerked her hand away, wiping her hand on her dress.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Which one?" he sing-songed gleefully, throwing Mickey's unresponsive body into the back of the car.

Esme rolled her eyes and made to get in the back with the body, but the Joker caught her elbow, stopping her.

"No dice, dollface. You're riding with me."

Esme sighed, climbing into the front seat. The Joker removed his chauffeur's cap, shaking out his stringy hair and glanced in the mirror, examining his face.

"Are we going to go or what?"

"_Relax_ dollface. All in good time."

"Quit calling me that," she said through gritted teeth.

"But is suits you _so_ well," he chortled, enjoying her reaction. It was obvious she was craving her rush and he was gleefully withholding it from her. He started the engine and pulled out into the crowded Gotham streets. Esme impatiently tapped her fingernails against the tinted glass, casually looking back at the mobster's body that was bouncing around in the back of the car.

"What did you do to him?"

"Well…heh heh…I slipped Mickey a Mickey,"

"Hey! We are not in Britain!" she screeched as Joker veered into the left lane, speeding up as he spotted an oblivious car coming towards them.

"I wanna be anarchy in the city!" he sang loudly as a reply, bouncing in his seat.

"Joker!" she slapped his shoulder, knowing it wouldn't do any good as the car came closer and closer in a sick game of chicken.

He laughed again, swerving to narrowly to miss the car. Esme gripped the dashboard with a yelp to try not to fly through the window as the Joker spun the wheel, rocketing them around a corner. Behind them, Mickey's body slammed against the seat with a sickening crunch.

"Is it too much to ask _not_ to get us killed?"

"Where's the fun in that?" The Joker replied, speeding down an empty street, hitting nearly every pothole just to beat up Mickey a bit more. Esme groaned and began chewing her lower lip, her fingers regaining their rhythm on the window.

They were down by the docks now, rolling past ships and containers until they reached a warehouse. Joker stopped the car with a screech in the middle of large hangar-like warehouse. He tugged open the door and unceremoniously pulled Mickey out of the back and onto the cold concrete floor. He looked down at Mickey, contemplating his immobile body as he shrugged off the chauffeur's jacket, throwing it on the back of the car. Esme slid on to the trunk, her legs dangling over the side, as Joker pulled on his purple overcoat, sliding his hands into his many pockets. He saw the impatience in her body language and smirked.

"Let me get on my face, dollface, and then we'll have a bit of fun."

He retrieved a few small pots and set them next to Esme. Casually and almost robotically he unscrewed their lids and dipped his fingers in the first jar, proceeding to smear white greasepaint haphazardly all over his face, covering up his appearance of normalcy. He went on like this. There was no care, no pattern in his actions. Just black around the eyes and red smeared about the mouth. When he was finished he glanced in one of the side-view mirrors and examined his handy work with a shrug. Then he returned the jars to his pockets and prodded Mickey's prostrate form.

Nothing.

He kicked the mobster's ribs, but he still didn't stir.

He pulled out a gun and fired it into the air. Esme jumped a bit, but Mickey remained immobile.

Joker crossed his arms and leaned against the trunk with a huff, looking like a petulant child whose favourite toy was just taken away.

"I hate waiting."


	5. Interrogation Games

YAY! New chapter! Who else is excited?! Is it only me? Okay, yeah, it is. Anyways, here's the latest chapter of this crazy story, and I hope you like it.

I own nothing except the plot and Esme. Right on!

Review, my pretties!

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The Joker leaned against the trunk of the car, his gaze flicking to Esme now that he was bored with Mickey. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, smearing the freshly applied greasepaint on his purple leather gloves.

"What do you say we have a bit of fun while ol' Mickey's out of it?"

His hand slithered up her leg transferring greasepaint smudges to her skin.

"Excuse me?!"

"Nothing to get excited about, dollface. It was just a suggestion."

Esme forcefully pushed his hand off of her leg from where it had been slowly inching up her hemline. Joker looked down at his hand and back at Esme, a strange gleam in his eyes.

"You know, _dollface_, I told you I don't take rejection well."

He yanked her down and pinned her between the car and his body. Esme met his gaze, staring into the black pits of his eyes. He giggled as he rifled in his pockets for something.

"You, uh, nervous, sweetcheeks?"

"A homicidal psychopath it standing in front of me probably looking through his pockets for a knife," she quipped boldly. "Nope. I'm not nervous at all."

Joker giggled at her answer and leaned in closer so she could feel his breath on her skin.

"Then why are you _trembling_?"

"I'm not trembling."

Even as she stated it, she could feel her body shake ever so slightly.

"You're shaking like a leaf, dollface," he cackled. "You still look good though, but something's missing."

He pretended to think and he pulled out a tin from a few minutes before, opening it so Esme could see the red paint.

"What are you…?"

Esme never finished as the Joker grabbed her chin and smeared the red paint around her mouth to mirror his own strange smile. As Esme struggled against him, he just kept laughing.

"Hey!"

Joker slowly turned around to see the battered Mickey sitting up, a dazed yet determined look on his face. He glared at the clown as best he could from his position. Joker released Esme, letting her fall to the concrete floor while he advanced on the mobster.

"Look who's finally up. You got something to say, Sleeping Beauty?"

"Leave her alone."

Joker raised an eyebrow.

"You're the captive and you're ordering _me_ around? That's a very, uh, _poor_ decision."

He aimed a sharp kick at Mickey's stomach making the mobster double over. Joker giggled and crouched down next to him, roughly grabbing his lapels.

"We're gonna play a little game. Sorta like 20 questions, but a little more _fun_. I ask a question and you answer it, 'kay?"

"I don't make deals with freaks," spat Mickey.

Joker sighted overdramatically.

"I thought it would come to this. Good thing I have a back up plan."

He let go of Mickey, slamming his head into the concrete and sauntered back to Esme. He pulled her up by her arms, making Esme wince. She'd probably have bruises for a week.

"You'd better be a good actress, dollface," he growled.

Before she had a chance to answer, he whipped her around, holding a knife to her throat, presenting her to Mickey.

"For my first trick," he chortled, "I'm going to cut my _lovely_ assistant into little pieces. Do you think I'll be able to put her back together?"

Mickey looked at him for a long moment.

"You're bluffing."

"No, I'm not," he sing-songed, pressing the blade against Esme's throat.

She hadn't planned on screaming, but _bloody hell_ that hurt! She could feel a small warm stream of blood running down her throat. She gripped the Joker's wrist trying t keep his hand from cutting any further.

"Here's the first question. And every time you don't answer _correctly_, this knife goes deeper. Capische?" He took Mickey's silence for a 'yes'. "Good. We'll start out simple. What's your name?"

"M-Mickey Castle," he stuttered.

"Correct," shouted the Joker gleefully. "Now, M-Mickey Castle, where's the money?"

"What money?"

"Wrong answer! She's very pretty, isn't she? She'd look even better with, ah, rubies dripping from her throat, wouldn't she?"

The blade went further into Esme's neck as she clawed at his wrist, but he didn't give up until he at least got a whimper out of her. He turned back to Mickey, who swallowed nervously.

"The mob money, Mickey. Where's the mob money?"

"What if I don't tell you?"

"Then things are gonna get a bit, uh, _messy_ around here."

He jabbed the blade at Esme's throat again, and she sucked in air through her teeth, blood still flowing down her neck and staining her dress. The Joker giggled quietly, and waited for Mickey to answer. Mickey looked at the floor weighing his options; his mouth was so dry and she looked so scared.

"All right. I'm only in charge of knowing where one load is," he mumbled dejectedly, nervously glancing at the knife at Esme's throat. "It's at Gotham National."

"See? That wasn't that hard, and not one hair on your _little_ head was harmed."

"You gonna let her go?"

Joker looked over at Esme like she was an afterthought; then, he violently pushed her away, throwing her to the hard ground. She landed with a grunt, vowing to get back at him for this.

"Aw, now that wasn't very nice of me, was it?" Joker held out a hand to Esme. She glared up at him for a moment before smirking and accepting his offer. As Mickey's eyes widened, Esme allowed Joker to help her to her feet, flicking one foot behind her for effect. The Joker kissed her lightly on the cheek, a reward for a job well done and held out his other hand. Esme took the knife in her hand, closing her eyes as the cool metal touched her skin. She let go of the Joker and began advancing on Mickey, a seductive smile coming to her lips.

"I never said _she_ wouldn't hurt ya!" The Joker doubled over laughing. "What do you think of my little key to the midway? My little snipe? You fell for the oldest trick in the book! You should have known Mickey-boy that chivalry is dead!"

Esme knelt down next to Mickey.

"_Bella mia_, what is he talking about? I don't understand."

She caressed his jaw lightly with the knife just like the Joker had done to her the night before.

"Oh, Mickey," she whispered. "What you don't understand could fill a library."

She brushed back the hair from his face like a mother comforting a small child, ignoring the Joker's giggles in the back ground. Mickey let out a quiet whimper.

"Sh sh sh sh, Mickey. Go out with a little dignity."

Excitement and adrenaline coursed through her veins as she brought the knife down to his throat. Lightly, she kissed his lips before swiping the blade across his throat.

"_Ciao_, Mickey," she cooed as the light left his eyes.

She stood up, closing the knife, blood spray from Mickey's throat dotting her dress. A satisfied smile spread across her lips and giggles began to spill out, joining in the Joker's glee. Finally, he walked up and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward an exit.

"C'mon, dollface, let's _blow_ this joint."

He led her outside to where a nondescript black van was waiting. Impatiently, she tapped her toe against the ground while he rummaged in the glove compartment for something. When he held it out, Esme could see that it was a small black box with a key shoved in the side of it.

"This, _precious_, is a detonator, and I want you to do the honours."

Esme took the device in a reverent sort of awe and weighted it in her hand. Joker got up right behind her, placing his hands on her hips and whispering into her ear.

"All you have to do is turn the key…a simple flick of the wrist."

Somewhere deep inside Esme, a voice yelled out that this was absurd, but the voice was quickly silenced by the feeling of power she had. She cocked her head and caressed the key lightly, looking up at the warehouse.

"Oh, Mickey you're so fine," she sang quietly, giggling. "You're so fine you blow my mind!"

Quickly, she turned the key and the whole warehouse went up in flames with a loud explosion. Soon both of them were giggling madly as dust and debris rained down around them.

"That, my little firecracker, was one hell of a show," Joker managed to get out between wheezing laughs. When he finally straightened up, he pulled an old beat up pocketwatch out and looked at the time. "Well, dollface, it's been fun, but we should get you home. It's getting late, and there are all sorts of _crazies _out on the streets."

Joker grabbed her roughly and threw her into the van, speeding through the streets once more. In the distance, Esme could hear the sounds of sirens racing to the fire, the chaos she'd created. She stretched her arms like a contented kitten, smiling a wide Cheshire Cat grin that complemented the make-up Joker had smeared across her lips. She felt so alive, like she could do anything. She was invincible.


End file.
